Illusions and Mystifications
by Leslie Finch
Summary: Professor Cranbrooke had always blamed himself for the death of his son. And still the bloody shape of a lightning bolt, which served as a cryptic warning on his dead son's forehead, haunts him. The last thing he wanted was for more lives to end.
1. Prologue

Illusions and Mystifications

Professor Cranbrooke had always blamed himself for the death of his son. And still the bloody shape of a lightning bolt, which served as a cryptic warning on his dead son's forehead, haunts him. The last thing he wanted was for more lives to dissapear, but thats was happened on his returning.

Prologue

There was a small thud, and the stones of the castle wall slid back revealing a menacing figure, hooded and cloaked in death. As he walked from his entrance a lone figure stepped from behind a bend in the corridor. He was a short boy with a neat head of brown hair. As he the hooded figure raised his wand to the boy, he felt a numbness come over him. And then as the killing curse was cast, he felt nothing. Joshua Cranbrooke was only in his first year, and he had been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

When a wandering professor of Divination found his body cold and limp, with a bloody shape of a lightning bolt cut into his forehead, they panicked and ran for the headmaster. But by then the purpetrator had long been gone, his final warning left as the only trace of his visit. Also by that time, his father, professor Cranbrooke, of Illusions and Mystifications had resigned and gone into a self-imposed exile.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Precautionary Action

**Authors Note**: I do not own Harry Potter and things

This fanfiction is set in the year when Albus Potter

attends his first year at Hogwarts.

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Decoded exerpt of restriced Ministry of Magic Files

_Cult Traits _

_Magical Conjuring_

_The Cranbrooke Hand_

_Precautionary Action _

_For quite sometime the Ministry of Magic has had knowledge of the defining trait of the Cranbrooke family. Which is their unique ability to conjure mass amounts of magical energies without the use of wand or deafening tool. Their stance in the controversies surrounding the use of the Dark Arts is currently unknown. Because of this, the Ministry of Magic has strategically placed most graduates of the Cranbrooke descent in work posistions at various schools of the magical arts,(or in rare cases, positions at the ministry itself). However, many critics call the measures taken "Indangering the development of the new generation of the wizarding world", but the Ministry stands by the actions taken because of the concrete fact that those in the Cranbrooke family have never shown any tendancy of tolerance towards the Dark Arts. But still, these measures are precautionary only. _

He read the last words with a sardonic rolls of the eyes. It was nothing he did not know, for he was now back in the teaching feild from a years job at the Ministry, which frankly he hated. He then remembered the reason he left teaching in the first place, and the irritation at the Ministry drained away from his counciousness. His poor son, only in his first year. Dead, with hardly a clue as to the cause or perpetrater of his death, with only that cut, the cut that reminded him so much of the famous Harry Potter and his family. He had spent hours and hours trying to work out some hidden meaning, but all those hours ended fruitlessly.

He actually did not know how this redundant information had come to his office, but he had stopped caring and worrying over the unexplained years ago. But he couldn't help thinking all the unanswered questions he had. Why was he given his own class, one that had never been taught before? Of course the headmistress had told him it was crucial for the next-generation wizards to have knowledge of the mind and how it is controlled. But what was the real reason? And why there never a real case about his son's death? And why did the ministry cafeteria smell like tomatoes baken in saliva? These questions and more swirled around in his mind, until he felt as if his brain was being devoured by Dementors, and he decided to stop, and focus his attention on something else.

He noticed for the first time, a thick layer of dusk beneath the creamy white pages on his desk. In fact, everything was dusty, it was as if the previous Professor had never used the office, he actually wasn't even sure if there had been a professor to replace him. He got up from his chair and walked over to the window. The afternoon sun was waning, and soon the students would be arriving. It would be hard, seeing the first years, so oblivious, innocent, and curious about magic. But he would survive. Just then he let out a sudden, _HICCUP_!

"Damn it all!" he yelled against the window. He had been hiccuping ever since he had set foot on campus.

He calmed himself. He hoped this would be a good year, but it was very unlikely, him being the only I & M instructor for the entire student body. He sighed and fell to the floor. He reached for a broom (a cleaning one) abandoned on the floor. He placed a hand on the stick and whispered the charm, "Clenus". And a little blue spark left his ring-finger and ascended the broom. The cleaning intrument sprang to life and began shuffling orderly around the room, gathering dust and sending it flying into the waste bin.

He got up and reached for the page on the his desk. He crumpled it up and threw it in the path of the enchanted broom which then nimbly flicked it into the growing piles of dust.

_Maybe it had been a mistake to come back. _He thought, as the broom sped across the floor. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in" he breathed.

"Professor, the students have arrived, and the banquet with be starting soon" said a tiny, and almost inhuman voice behind the door.

"Oh, yes. Thankyou" he said.

Professor Cranbrooke walked over to the canernous suitcases at the rooms edge. He opened the smallest and took out an almost-new scarlet robe. He slipped off his dusty black one, and put on the newish one. He looked at himself in a mirror, leaning against the wall. The sight almost brought tears to his weary eyes. It was as if he had never left. He looked almost exactly like he did when he had attended the banquet almost two years ago. Save of course for the shadows of weariness and greif that hung beneath his eyes. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe and walked out of his office, in ascent to the entrance hall far below.


End file.
